Word: luridness
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Without becoming lurid, it may be baldly stated that no less than nine major revolutions and at least a score of minor revolts have been put down during the ten odd years in which Señor Leguía has worn the presidential sash of Peru. The old semifeudal, politico-military aristocracy has resisted long and bitterly the dominance of Leguía, admittedly a champion of the middle class, of industrialism, and even of the aboriginal Indians of Peru, who have been exploited immemorially by the landed descendants of the Spanish conquerors...
Satan in Sables. Good old cinema staple is hereby rewoven into a routine romance of Paris. The presence of Lowell Sherman, lurid villain of many a legitimate production (and of D. W. Griffith's Way Down East), is the only unusual feature. He plays a Russian millionaire on the loose in the French capital. There is the usual sweet and simple cocotte from Montmartre to enthrall him. If you like Hm on the stage, you will approve him in this movie-if you like the movies...
...Acres' discretion can be trusted. His book will be no lurid chronicle of philanderings with John Bull. Nevertheless the Council, which all but overreaches the Old Lady in Conservatism, has suspended judgment as to whether her biography is to be made public until it has been inspected and found blameless...
Developments in the Press were naturally lass capable of being accurately evaluated, but reflected a general tone of condemnation for Mr. Mellon and sympathy for M. Caillaux. The French temperament exploded into many lurid headlines and wild words, such as: "France, with a knife at her throat is being offered up to a God more detestable than the God of War!" But two questions were asked everywhere that summed up the tenor of thinking Frenchmen's worries: 1) How can France keep up her prestige in Europe for another five years, without knowing what her total obligations will eventually...
Last week Harper's celebrated its 76th Anniversary. It appeared in a new cover of orange and black -a cover as suavely lurid as a tiger rug. It abandoned s practice of reproducing, under its title-head, a portrait, by some substantial master-folowed instead the example of The Dial, The Atlantic Monthly, The Yale Review by printing there its table of contents. There was little to remind the twitching ear-tabbed centenarian of the cover familiar to his halcyon days - the two roco pedestals that framed a page made acceptable for mid-centry boudoirs with a trinity...